


I'd Rather Knot

by crazyparakiss



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Always-a-girl!Stiles, Crack, F/M, Girl!Stiles, Loss of Virginity, Minor Character Death, Porn with limited plot, Tiny bit of Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-16
Updated: 2013-01-16
Packaged: 2017-11-25 18:41:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,504
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/641833
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crazyparakiss/pseuds/crazyparakiss
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Her stomach isn’t the flattest, but as he runs his hand over the fleshy pudge she’s developed, from too many nights scarfing down junk food from a convenience store, he whispers, “I’m going to make you so fat with my baby.”</p><p>“Oh my god, Dude,” she shudders. “That should not be hot.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'd Rather Knot

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kayoko](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kayoko/gifts).



> Welcome to my Stiles is always a girl, crack, smut, and what was I thinking fic. Written for Kayoko since she requested Girl!Stiles on her journal. I've got one for her that is less crack more angst waiting to be finished. For now, however, I wanted to write this to thank her for her wonderful banners for my comm and for just being awesome in general. 
> 
> This has not been beta'd! I'm still green in the TW fandom, and am on the prowl for someone who can put up with my spaziness and my copious amounts of feels. :) 
> 
> Here's where I tell you: I regret nothing! IDK about the title. It asked for a title and Girl Stiles just didn't feel like a very good title to me ;)

Derek falls into his bed, exhausted from the latest battle, wondering for the ninth time _how is this even my life_ as he stares up at his shadowed ceiling. The moon is still heavy as she wanes back to new, and he watches the curtains as they shift in her pale light. He should sleep, he knows, but Derek is too wound up to sleep--the race of his heart is still too fast, the stench of blood too strong.  
  
When he finally drifts he falls into a restless slumber and when he wakens to the shrill caw of a crow he feels as if he hasn’t slept at all.  
  
Coffee is brewing when he enters the kitchen. Isaac looks about as good as Derek feels, and Erica winces as Boyd gingerly places his palm against the gash on her side. He senses her relief when Boyd siphons off some of her pain. Derek looks away from them when Erica thanks Boyd--her mouth on his, desperate and needy like she might die if she doesn’t have him against her. Maybe she thought she’d never have the chance while they were out last night--it certainly seemed like the end of their days. Derek’s pack is strong, but an Alpha pack is stronger and yet they all knew they’d needed to face the challenge. It wasn’t a fight without loss, and for that Derek is regretful.  
  
They bury Jackson under a spiral of Wolfsbane drenched rope, near the house, and Lydia cries as she leans against Isaac. He doesn’t pull away, just allows her to soak up his warmth and comfort as she falls apart at the foot of this shallow grave. Derek wants to scold her; she’s crying as if the world is ending. She’s eighteen--she’ll know love again, but this break is permanent; brought on by a force that can never be undone. She asks him, after, in the silence when they’ve all gone home or out for a run--trying to feel alive--she asks him if there is a way to bring Jackson home again. Derek tells her it comes with a price and the price isn’t worth what comes back. She doesn’t mention Peter, but he hovers around them like a stench of betrayal. Derek doesn’t wonder where he is--out there with the Alphas plotting Derek’s demise, no doubt.  
  
In a way, Derek doesn’t blame him--of all the people he knows, Peter has the most reason to hate him. He’s the only one who sees through Derek’s denial and knows the self-hatred lying in his heart. There will be another attack, he knows this--feels the promise of it on the wind as it chills him to the bone. When he sees them all, his pack, huddled together--so lost and vulnerable--he worries for their safety. He’s lost so much already, Derek doesn’t want to lose this family, too. He’s not sure he could survive the ache of their loss.  
  
  
It is fourteen days later, when the moon is black, that the next attack comes. Derek’s not surprised--they are more in control when the moon is hidden. What does surprise him is that the attack falls where he least expected--Peter knows him too well.  
  
The howl is Scott’s. They hear it as they patrol the woods of Beacon Hills Preserve. It is an anguished cry that reverberates through the air and shakes the trees. Derek feels as if the world has tilted, shifting as he runs south towards Scott’s howl.  
  
His call leads them to the Stilinski house, and Derek’s breathing is coming in and out, steady despite his rapidly beating heart. If Alphas are attacking humans he’ll have innocent blood on his hands and Argents breathing down his throat. Then there is Scott--the closest thing Derek’s ever had to a stubborn little brother--and he just knows he’ll look at him with hatred if anything has happened to Stiles.  
  
Stiles, who is like Scott’s sister.  
  
When they enter the house Isaac and Boyd quickly check the perimeter while Erica beelines for Scott’s scent. Blood is heavy and pungent on the air, but Derek can hear three heart beats that aren’t his pack and his own begins to calm. The shot to his thigh is painful, but it will heal--has already begun healing, in fact. What hurts more is the unmasked hatred Scott settles on him while he stands at Mr. Stilinski’s side. This isn’t how it’s supposed to be--it is all of them against the Alphas and they aren’t united; Derek knows they are going to fall.  
  
Stiles is bleeding and so is her father, but he’s awake and demanding answers from Scott while Derek silently drives them to Deaton.  
  
The only indication she’s not completely knocked out is her random slur of words, or perhaps she’s the sort who can manage speech while unconscious--Derek wouldn’t doubt that ability in Stiles.  
  
A bite is visible on her hip and he narrows his eyes at the mark. Deaton is wearing a grim expression as he cleans the wound. None of them says it, but they all know this changes everything.  
  
Derek checks her every evening, bumping into Scott a couple of times (very awkward half yelling ensues each encounter), to monitor her bite. Stiles, like Lydia, is unchanged and healing slowly. He frowns, because this has to _mean_ something. It’s unheard of for the bite not to change or kill a human, and he’s witnessed the phenomenon of immunity _twice_.  
  
Deaton doesn’t look any less grim when Derek brings him news of Stiles’s status. Gnashing his teeth Derek demands to know what Deaton knows for while he looks somber his eyes are full of understanding and Derek is tired of all the damn riddles. He’s tired of guessing, of patience, of all of it.  
  
A steady flow of noise fills the room as Deaton measures out different powders into specific containers. Derek’s patience is almost gone when Deaton finally speaks.  
  
“There are rumors.” He crosses his arms, meeting Derek’s gaze with that same knowledge twinkling in brown eyes. “Stories past through the generations--I’m sure you’ve heard them.” When Derek remains silent Deaton continues, “There are humans built with the predisposition to mate Alphas.”  
  
Derek shifts against the wall, steps away from the cold plaster, and moves closer to the examination table. “An Alpha Mate?” Derek is doubtful. “It’s a myth--like being able to cure the bite, and the formation of soul bonds.”  
  
“Legends often stem from truth, Derek. For a long time hunters believed that the Alpha bite was only a legend and that every werewolf could turn a human.” Derek snorts while Deaton continues, “If Stiles is, in fact, an Alpha Mate then she will need to be monitored, guarded, at all times.”  
  
Derek sighs, watching Stiles is the last thing he wants to do. He’ll take death over her anyday.

  
  
“An Alpha Mate,” Stiles looks as sceptical as Derek was a few days earlier. “Like I’m supposed to be someone’s bitch?” She taps long fingers against the top of her desk and watches Derek with expressive brown eyes--right now they are expressing her anger and disbelief. “Am I supposed to roll over and show you my belly or something?”  
  
His pulse feels erratic in his throat, and he swallows down the feeling of--he doesn’t want to think about what that feeling means. “No,” Derek gruffs out and Stiles smiles that ridiculously bright smile that is full of large teeth and laughter.  
  
“Alright, so how are we doing this, then?” She’s suddenly serious and Derek thinks this is why he cannot stand her because her sudden mood changes always leave him reeling.  
  
“You’re going to stay with me,” he supplies in a tone that says the solution is obvious.  
  
“And my dad?” She looks doubtful.  
  
“He’s coming, too.” Derek says it as if that is the end of discussion, but dealing with Mr. Stilinski is a thousand times worse than dealing with his daughter.  
  
  
“Absolutely _not_ ,” he raves at Derek, sloshing hot coffee over his hand as he gestures in a wild manner akin to Stiles’s. Stiles is at his side a moment later, chastising as she wipes up the spilled liquid and he swears about the sting.  
  
“Dad, be careful.” Stiles is sighing in a manner similar to what a mother would use with a fairly difficult toddler. She takes his cup and sets it on the counter, her fingers wrapping around his tan wrist as she inspects the pink blooming on his skin.  
  
“I’ll be fine.” He waves off her help and looks at Derek with another of those hard expressions--this one says he means serious business, and Derek is amused despite the fact he really shouldn’t be. “Now, Derek,” and he spits out Derek’s name as if it’s particularly unappetizing. “Let’s talk about this like reasonable adults--I assume Werewolves know how to act like adults.”  
  
He shoots Scott a sidelong glance and mutters, “Can we just kill him?”  
  
Stiles hits Derek in the face with the coffee soaked dishrag and with a glare mutters, “Try it and the Alpha pack will be the least of your worries.” Her defiance shouldn’t make him want to pull her close and sniff her neck. Derek’s going to have to talk to Deaton about the affect Alpha Mates have on Alphas--he has a feeling her presence is going to fuck with him for a long, long while as they try to figure this out.  
  
Mr. Stilinski says, “Now--what’s the best way to kill a Werewolf?” Derek blanches and Scott shifts uncomfortably at his side. “Not going to kill you, Scott,” he assures, but doesn’t offer that assurance to Derek, and he finds that off putting.  
  
  
Derek gets stationed at the Stilinski house for the night, but they know that come tomorrow evening they have to accompany Derek to his home--Werewolves, especially Alphas, don’t like to leave their territories open for attack. He sleeps on the floor outside of Stiles’s door despite her dad’s protesting, and sometime in the night she opens it--telling him to get his pathetic ass in the bed.  
  
As he settles against the navy sheets she grins and says, “Should I let you out to pee first? I don’t want you messing my bed.”  
  
“A dog joke? I thought you were more creative than that.” He watches as she shifts beneath the comforter, wrapping it around her as best as she can despite the fact he’s sharing with her. She looks like a half swaddled baby by the time she’s done. The buzz cut she sports doesn’t help the similarity.  
  
“I’m too tired to be creative.” She mutters something about him behaving and keeping his paws to himself and he snorts. The moon is a thin sliver in the sky beyond the curtain; Derek blinks slowly at it before falling into a deep sleep.  
  
When he wakes he’s got an arm around Stiles’s waist, and is pressed up against her back with the short hair on her head tickling his nose. Derek feels so relaxed and well rested that he almost believes this is a pleasant dream--then reality comes crashing down around them in the form of Mr. Stilinski’s shout.  
  
“What the hell is going on in here?”  
  
Stiles lifts her head, staring at her father for a groggy moment before flopping back on Derek’s face, burrowing into his body--seeking warmth. “Dad, ‘s too early for you to be pissed off--come back in twenty.” Her mouth is dangerously close to Derek’s neck and he can feel the moisture of her breath on his skin.  
  
“Stiles!” Mr. Stilinski shouts, “Why do you have a man in your bed?” Her eyes open then and she blinks at Derek’s face, curious for a moment until realization dawns.  
  
“Shit! Dad,” she bolts up, waving her arm in a dramatic manner, “Dad, seriously--it’s, uh, not what it looks like, really. Really, really, Dad. He’s just in here because, come on--you remember Cyrano--I can’t just leave my dog asleep on the floor outside of my room.”  
  
He doesn’t look convinced, and Derek feels irritated at Stiles for comparing him to a dog-- _again_. “Cyrano didn’t want to mount you!” And, oh my God, her dad really says that--sending Derek’s temperature through the roof as he honest to God blushes. He hasn’t blushed since the first time Kate told him she wanted to fuck his scrawny ass. That’s been ten years.  
  
“Dad, _really_?” She turns a disgusted look on her dad, and then looks back at Derek with eyes that scream _I am so sorry!_ Glancing back to her dad, she adds, “Derek does not want to _mount_ me.”  
  
Derek really hopes that statement is true. Having sex with Stiles would probably be the worst decision of his life, and her father’s glare promises him bodily harm if Derek so much as looks at Stiles with debauched thoughts.  
  
  
He follows the sheriff’s cruiser as they make the familiar path to Derek’s home. When they pull up into the woods, trailing up to the newly reconstructed house, Derek feels his throat close up. It’s hard looking at a memory of what used to be, but he’s got Stilinskis to deal with and he shoves the emotions down.  
  
Stiles is out of the car, her green Henley ruffling in the breeze as she stands by her dad. “See,” she says in a cheery way, “It’s not so bad--there’s like a hundred bedrooms in this place, I swear.”  
  
Mr. Stilinski sighs as he goes to the trunk to get their luggage, “Yeah, but it just doesn’t feel like home.”  
  
“Now who’s the sullen teenager, Dad?” She rolls her eyes and waves at Derek with a bright smile when he parks the Camaro near their car.  
  
“Hello, Lover!” Then she’s wearing a sarcastic smirk while her dad glares at Derek, “Look, Dad, my surly wolf-lover is here--run along so he can mount me to his heart’s content.”  
  
“Stiles,” he warns, but her grin doesn’t falter. “There will be no mounting so long as I am in this house.”  
  
“See, Derek,” Stiles mock whispers. “He’s giving you permission to sex me the minute he leaves for work! That’s his roundabout way of saying you’re son-in-law material.”  
  
When he gets out of his Camaro, Derek tells her to shut up and goes to help her dad carry in the bags containing Stiles’s comics and books--she says she only brought the necessary ones, but the bag weighs a ton.  
  
He puts them both on the second floor, near Isaac’s room, and makes an advanced apology about Erica and Boyd. He doesn’t tell them Erica is in heat because Derek cannot deal with more dog comparisons at this stage in his life. Stiles’s dad shifts in the door of his temporary room and shoves a hand out at Derek. “Thanks for doing this, son. I know I’m difficult (here Stiles mumbles “understatement of the century”), but I am grateful you’re looking out for my girl. She’s all I got left.” Derek nods and grips his hand in a firm shake just as Stiles’s father adds, “You can call me John, but don’t think that gives you the right to _claim_ my daughter.”  
  
“Wouldn’t dream of it, sir,” Derek says with an honest expression. “I’d rather you not shoot me, again.”  
  
John laughs and claps him on the shoulder, “Keep it in your pants and I won’t have to resort to violence.”  
  
Derek thinks it’ll be easy enough to keep his dick caged, at least he believes that before they visit Deaton.  
  
  
“Come again?” Stiles’s face is a mask of incredulity, lips pursing in an irritated pucker while lines appear on her forehead as her eyebrows reach for her hairline--Derek thinks that face is the picture of hilarity, but now is _not_ the time to laugh. She’s picking at the red hoodie swallowing her torso and fidgets while Deaton stands, seeming to stare through her.  
  
“Mate--it’s going to be an instinct for you now,” his expression almost pitying.  
  
“No, no it’s really not,” she laughs--high-pitched and panic laden. “This is a no-baby zone.” Pale hands make wild circles over her concealed stomach, “Like ever, dude. I am not planning on being some breeding bitch.” Derek winces at that, and he sees Scott fidget uncomfortably next to John.  
  
“The Alpha’s bite might not have changed you in the same way an Alpha’s bite changed Scott, Stiles, but believe me when I say it will change your biological impulses. You will _want_ to be a breeding bitch.”  
  
John breaks the tense silence following Deaton’s words--in which Stiles looks ready to cry and Derek feels like he’s been welcomed with open arms to the TMI awards, and has a front row seat. “Is she going to go into heat?”  
  
And, wow, awkward.  
  
“In a manner of speaking, yes.” Deaton is perfect calm and poise while Stiles proceeds to have a panic attack. Derek feels like having one as well. Erica and Boyd are bad enough, he doesn’t need Stiles humping his door.  
  
“Is there a way to avoid her heat?”  
  
“Mate her off.” Deaton faces John, tilting his head at Stiles, “She’s a virgin. Lydia was already predisposed to a Beta--Jackson--and so when he went wolf she was his, never truly belonging to Peter. Had her virginity been intact, like Stiles’s, she’d have lusted for Peter and his knot.”  
  
Stiles is sitting with her back ramrod straight and her nostrils flare as panic fills the features of her face, “His _what_?” Derek swears her tone could shatter glass.  
  
“Knot,” Deaton says, as if discussing the pleasantness of the weather.  
  
“The way _dogs_ knot?” Derek rolls his eyes, because what is with Stiles and her dog comparisons?  
  
“Similiar, yes. They don’t knot as long, or so I’ve been told.” Deaton gives Scott a meaningful look, and Stiles whips around to face him with a disbelieving expression.  
  
“You _knot_ and you didn’t think that was something worth sharing?”  
  
“Dude, Stiles, honestly--there are some things I like to keep private.” Scott shuffles from one foot to the next, not looking up to meet her eye.  
  
“Well, Scott, it would have been nice to know about so I could avoid sex with you knotting assholes in the future! But, hey, what’s it matter _now_? Apparently, I’m going to be frothing at the fucking mouth for a knot sometime soon. My luck, sooner rather than way fucking later.”  
  
Then John is cutting in with an idea, “Can Scott have sex with her to avoid her trying to hump an Alpha?” Derek can see the similarities between father and daughter--they both lack tact.  
  
Scott and Stiles both make a disgusted face. “Really, Dad? _Really_?” She shifts to the end of the metal exam table--the end furthest from Scott. “Even if I was sexually inclined towards Scott I, _one_ , don’t appreciate you pimping me out to him and, _two_ , I’m pretty sure he already popped a knot with Allison. I don’t want to be Scott’s post break-up pity fuck, thanks.”  
  
Then everyone is looking at Derek and he’s scowling at their scrutiny, “No.” He says it before anyone has a chance to voice the question and he says it again, for good measure, “No.”  
  
  
Five nights later she’s slipping into his room, and she fucking reeks with want. There is only so much he can deny, and his wolf needs come before everything. She’s in a long shirt and she’s arching towards him when he slips out of the bed.  
  
“Derek,” she whispers. “I can hear his call.” Her hand is clammy on his shoulder, and he winces when her blunt fingernails dig into his skin too deep. “I want--fuck--I want _so_ bad.”  
  
“Say it,” he whispers, words hot against her temple as he smells her short hair. She shouldn’t be desirable to him. She’s everything Kate wasn’t--tall, gangly, boyish--and yet, maybe that’s why he wants to wrap himself around her. Lose himself in something pleasurable that doesn’t bring back images of Kate. That or it’s the hormones screaming _breed_.  
  
His fingers trace invisible lines between the moles on her cheek, trailing down to the dark spots on her neck. “Say it,” he pleads, “Say it and I’ll give you anything you want.” Fuck. He’s not supposed to _want_ her, but it barrels into him--the desire, the need--and it’s more than just her smell tickling his senses. It’s been there for awhile, Derek’s just been ignoring the pull that called him to her window countless times now.  
  
“I want you,” her words are less than a whisper--a small push of air he’d have missed if his hearing wasn’t so damn good.  
  
He kneels, knees dropping heavily against the plush carpet. Derek doesn’t care if the house hears his fall--Stiles is less than a breath away. Lifting up the hem of her dark shirt he smells her--pungent with the musk of arousal. His mouth is watering when he spreads her thighs, her cunt open to his greedy gaze. “Fuck,” he mutters. She came prepared; she’s swollen with need and is already wet when he rubs the pad of his finger against her. He can imagine Stiles in her bed, finger fucking herself until she needs something more—something _Alpha._ Derek leans in, presses his mouth to her, sucking at her clit, pulling flesh between his teeth, gentle, as he soothes every part of her with his tongue. Her flavor is wild, and he thinks it appropriate as he feels her body quiver around him, above him. His eyes flash red and he can feel nature taking the wheel as she grinds down against his face--whispering something about how the scruff burn on her thighs will be worth it if he just doesn’t stop.  
  
Derek has no intentions of stopping. Ever. He’ll fuck her until they starve or die from exhaustion. The others will have to hose them down to separate them, and even then Derek doubts he’ll be able to stop. He was right--she’s nothing like Kate. Stiles is so much more, so much better.  
  
She whines his name, and he looks up--watching as she removes her shirt. Small perky breasts jiggle with the motion, and he wants nothing more than to watch them bounce again and again as he slams into her body. As he stands, Derek gazes at her open and hungry. Then she seems to remember herself and looks down, mumbling, but he hears every word. “I know I’m not the best looking girl on the block.” She’s trying to hide herself from him as she curls in on her body--concealing her breasts with her arms as she looks anywhere but at Derek’s face.  
  
He slips a hand between her thighs, working his middle finger inside of her slick cunt. His other hand grips her firm thigh--certainly she’s not skinny in the way Kate was, the way Allison and Lydia are, but she’s got an athlete’s definition in her thighs, her calves. Her stomach isn’t the flattest, but as he runs his hand over the fleshy pudge she’s developed, from too many nights scarfing down junk food from a convenience store, he whispers, “I’m going to make you so fat with my baby.”  
  
“Oh my god, Dude,” she shudders. “That should not be hot.” Even as she says so she cants her hips towards him, trying to take his finger deeper. “Fuck, Derek, do it--make me fat with your babies. Knot me, tie me, fuck I don’t care--just you. In me. Now!” It’s less coherent than she normally manages, but not by much and Derek doesn’t care--he’s too busy pulling his finger out of her and taking hold of his cock.  
  
She slams her hand against the wall, “Fuck, Derek, do it--what are you waiting for a written invitation--I want your dick, right the fuck now.”  
  
He’s slipping in as she’s tensing up, eyes pinched in pain while he slowly splits her open. “God, it burns.” She hisses and he waits--rubbing a hand up and down the curve of her spine.  
  
“Shhh,” he whispers against her sweaty temple. Kissing her skin open mouthed, tasting salt as he slowly rocks into her--gentle and careful as she adjusts. “Jesus, you’re so tight.”  
  
“Oh my God, shut up--I’m supposed to talk through sex, not you. Go back to brooding silence,” she’s wincing as she speaks, but she clings to his back when he begins to pull out. “Don’t, don’t you fucking quit--I meant it when I said I wanted it, so fucking _go_ already!”  
  
He snaps into her, deep and harsh--causing her to cry out as she tilts her head back. The lean line of her throat is exposed to his mouth, and he sucks marks into her pale flesh--biting down with blunt human teeth when she groans. He can feel the sound bounce against his tongue and moans in response.  
  
Thankfully, she’s new to the whole experience or Derek is sure she would mock him when he knots too soon--his hips snapping up as he comes. He can feel her clamping around him and he whines--honest to God _whines_ \--as he scents at the juncture between her neck and shoulder.  
  
When he’s pulling out of her, half an hour later, and his dick is over sensitive she speaks. “So, that was quick of you--you aren’t going to make a habit of busting a nut before I get mine, are you?”  
  
Derek wants to strangle her. Life with Stiles is going to be hell. He falls into boneless heap on the bed once he’s caught his breath, and he ignores Stiles as she crawls beside him. She’s yawning and talking about asking Scott if all Werewolves lack stamina, and he thinks about kicking her out of the bed. Then Stiles is pressing into his side, and he’s pulling the comforter over them both as she says, “You better be prepared to fuck me in the morning—like a good fuck, what you did with your mouth was good and all, but I require an orgasm, or ten—ten would be fantastic, actually, and I swear to God if you don’t give me multiples I’m severing this bond.”

“Stiles,” he whispers, and she turns to face him. In the pale light he can see how wide-eyed she is despite the tired scent her body exudes. “Shut up or I am going to rip your throat out.”

“O-oh, kinky,” she says with a conspirator’s laugh.

Derek rolls over on his bed, exhausted from the thought and feel of Stiles, wondering for the ninth time _how is this even my life_ as he stares up at his shadowed ceiling.  
  



End file.
